


The Harlot (tilling my own grave version)

by crookedspoon



Series: Random AUs [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Coercion, F/M, Unconventional Courtship 2015, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 22:59:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3668382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>It is a dark era, and a lusty lass will do what she must to survive. Even if it means bartering flesh for a palmful of coins...</b>
</p><p>Forced to watch her fellow performers burn in a circus fire, Harleen Quinzel was separated from any survivors in the aftermath.  When Harley's accused by a rival of witchcraft, she finds herself behind prison walls, awaiting certain death with a roguish priest unlike any man of the cloth she has known.</p><p>In reality, the priest is as far from holy as the devil himself, but his promise of freedom in return for her services may be her salvation. Locked into a dubious agreement, Harley resents his plan to have her seduce and ruin his lifelong enemy. Especially when the priest's lust for her is so compelling. She may agree to be his pawn...even as she plots to use him just as he is using her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Harlot (tilling my own grave version)

**Author's Note:**

> Summary from the novel _The Harlot_ by Saskia Walker. ([Source](https://www.overdrive.com/media/582441/the-harlot))
> 
>  **Update 2016-03-02:** Just to let you know that this story has not been abandoned. I have a number of other projects I'd like to get out of the way first, before I can dedicate myself to the worldbuilding of this one. If there's anything you'd like to see along the way, I'd love to hear it.

_Sometimes I wonder if it would not have been better for them to leave me somewhere on the endless roads we traveled._

_I was an unlucky child – misfortune trailed me and my companions like a bad odor. Food spoiled fast, equipment broke, and people hurt themselves. Yet strangely, it never affected our performances, as though to balance out the scales. That was likely cause enough for them to keep me. I brought them spectators and money, and every show was a success. What were a few minor injuries compared to that?_

_What indeed?_

_Though I can't help but wonder if they would all still be alive today had they never taken me in._

* * *

Fire had lit up the sky that day, great rolling flames that stretched toward the firmament as though intending to scorch a hole through it. Harley could remember nothing but the heat – the heat and the screams and the panic that had welled up around her in the face of that chaos. Everyone had grabbed the thing closest to them, as if by simply holding it they would be holding on to life.

As if by a miracle she had made it out unscathed, although she knew her strange luck must have been involved. Had anyone else escaped that deathtrap or had she sacrificed everyone to save her own skin?

Even if someone had, she doubted she would ever see them again. She must have used up her last bit of luck in that getaway because her prospects were no longer rosy. In the days she had spent down here (at least she thought of it as down), she had not come across a single sign of life, be it human or animal, nothing that would tell her she was in fact still among the living and not buried in a crypt somewhere, deceased but unable to move on to the next life.

As so often, footsteps echo in the distance, faint enough to be another figment of her imagination. Sometimes she heard them shuffling right next to her like a ghostly procession. She heard iron doors thrown shut, small campfires crackling in the dark, dry twigs breaking like birds' bones. They were the sounds the silence made in her head, she knew that. They were not real. 

In the beginning, she had demanded to know why she was locked up here, had tried to barter with anyone who might have been there to listen, had offered her services as a fool, an acrobat, or any other kind of entertainer if only they would let her out. When no one had answered, not even fellow inmates telling her to shut up, she had started talking to herself, making up stories of what she would do once she got out, until words failed her and all she could do was hum lullabies to crowd out the deafness that was trying to settle in.

Her throat was parched now, not a sound to be wrung from it, even if she had felt more vigorous than she was. Her body was a map of pain, her head, stomach, and knees its centers of trade, and every muscle a pathway of ache between them. She was fatigued but unable to rest. As used as she was to sleeping on hard surfaces, it was the cold and the discomfort that kept her awake.

How she yearned for the times she had traded fisticuffs with Dick over who would be allowed to have the cot closest to the brazier. It mattered little who won in the end (except for bragging rights), because the loser (Dick, nine times out of ten) would snuggle up to the winner (Harley, because she fought dirty) for warmth during the night. This had never been true the following morn if you asked him, but Harley enjoyed teasing him for being a giant baby.

The memory of him tore at something in her chest. No more teasing. Sadness overcame her, but she was too weary to let it show.

Her cell was dank, dirty, and disgusting, its walls slimy with substances Harley would rather not wonder at. Once she had given up finding a crack in the stone that might reveal a hidden door, or feeling the vertical iron bars for a space to slip through or a way to pry them open with force, she had slid down the length of them. Crouching against the bars was preferable to lying down on the bare floor. Who knew what manner of fluids had been spilled here? Not even straw had been laid out to cover them, although it would have grown musty with no one to replace it.

In the distance, she heard footsteps again – her own heartbeat in her ears, no doubt. This time, however, they seemed to be echoing ever louder and she could have sworn there was a glimmer of light somewhere outside her cell. Sure enough, the blackness around her slowly dissolved into spots of gray of varying size and depth. She could make out a corridor, and cells opposite her own, filled with more shadows. And skeletons, unless her eyes deceived her, propped up against the walls so as to be visible from her point of view, bony arms stretching through the bars as though waving to her. Almost too conveniently placed to have died there on the spot.

Keys jangled with every step, musical as the sweet clinking of coins in her purse, and Harley perked up. It was the sound of freedom.

A robed figure soon appeared in the center of the glowing sphere that had announced its coming from afar. Harley shielded her eyes from it, for although the lantern in the figure's hands was shaded, the soft orange light it spilled across the corridor was too bright for Harley's eyes.

"Good, you're still alive," the figure said with a voice creaky from disuse – or an overindulgence in tobacco and alcohol. The robes it wore were those of a priest, so disuse seemed more likely. "What would I have told the magistrate if you had died before your execution?"

That made no sense to her, but she found herself too tired to remark upon it. When he slid a heavy iron key into the lock of her cell door, she heaved herself up, clutching the bars for support because her legs alone would buckle again.

The priest stepped inside the cell, throwing the door shut behind him, and shone the lantern in her face. 

"Hm, yes, you might do," he mused as he grabbed Harley's chin and tugged her head this way and that. All she could discern about his own features were a pointed chin and a mouth disfigured by scars that stretched his dark lips into an unnatural grin. The rest was hidden beneath his cowl. She shuddered, telling herself it was only the cold. If he wanted to scare her, he would have to do better than that.

He noticed her reaction when he bent to put down the lantern, and his smile was all teeth, like that of a shark. (Harley had heard of sharks in the sea-towns they had stopped at.)

A belt knife appeared in his hand and before Harley managed to yelp in surprise, he slit open her sequined top down the front.

"Hey, what are you—"

She pushed him away, but when he came at her again, she had to realize she was too weak and he too quick for her to fight him off. She struggled as best she could, but the next instant found herself pressed against the iron bars that sent a chill through her cheek and chest.

"I see you've got spunk," he chuckled close by her ear. "I like that. I like that a lot."

He was certainly truthful about that. Even through his thick robes she could feel his arousal pressing against her bottom. This was not a man of the cloth, or if he was, he made no move to hide his desire. She tried to shrug him off, when she felt something sharp dig into her neck.

"Ah-ah- _ahh,_ " he singsonged, "don't struggle now. I wouldn't want to cut off that pretty little head of yours. At least, not before giving you the chance to prove that you're not _completely_ useless."

His free hand slid up her torso to cup her breast. Despite herself, she jerked against him when he twisted her stiff nipple. She rolled her eyes, knowing where this was headed.

"Don't you have altar boys to fondle?" she asked.

Chuckling, he pinched her nipple again. "So, not only do you have fire, you're also a funny one. You're growing on me. I think I'd regret killing you." 

She was sure he only meant to scare her, so she would struggle less when his fingers then stole their way into her trousers, but it worked. She did struggle less. 

"I trust you're not a virgin?" he asked, rubbing his scarred cheek against her ear as his fingers reached for her core.

"Who wants to know?" she bit out, trying to hold onto the last bit of fight he was draining from her.

"Oh, I don't care if you are. We could remedy that right here if need be. But I find a little experience helps with the sort of work I have in mind for you."

"You want to whore me out?"

"Would you rather burn at the stake? You know, the allegations against you _are_ quite severe: witchcraft, devil worship, _dealings_ with the devil... my my, the list goes on." He shoved two fingers into her. "I'm the only friend you have now. The only one who can make it all go away. I can save you. If you're willing to do something for me in return."

Of course. Men only wanted her for one thing. She could do that. If that was what it took to get her out of here.

"And what would that be?" she moaned and ground her hips back against his.

"Ohh, a tease. Good. I like that." 

He smacked his lips. Then, to her surprise, he withdrew and took a step back. Something bounced off the wall behind him and clattered to the stone floor. He must have thrown the knife over his shoulder. When she turned around, he was spreading his arms in a gesture of invitation.

"Seduce me," he said.

She cocked her head at him. "I think it's a little late for that, _father._ " 

"Okay, you may be right about that. Let's save that one for another time."

"You're the boss."

Grabbing the front of his robes, she swung him against the cell door. A giggle rose in his chest, but before it found its way out of his mouth, Harley pushed her tongue inside it, ignoring the scars. She had expected a foul taste to greet her, but he tasted sweet, like bonbons – like poison. Crowding him harder against the iron bars, she hooked a leg around his waist and palmed his arousal through his heavy robe. 

"Are you sure you want to do this here?"

"Nice try, girl," he laughed and pushed at her shoulders, motioning her to get on her knees. Reluctantly, she followed. Grabbing her grimy pigtails, he shoved her face against his crotch. "Let's see if you're worth letting out of this cell first."

"Seriously? You expect me to hold up your robe while I suck you off?"

"Is there a problem?"

"Damn right there is."

With a last surge of energy, she leaped into the corner of the cell where she could see the knife glinting in the lamplight. She picked it up and brandished it at him.

"Bravo," he clapped. "You surprise me. I _really_ like that. But before you do anything _stupid_ like stabbing me and taking my keys to get out of here, let me tell you one thing. There _is_ no getting out of here without me. The guards won't let you pass, even if you offer yourself to them. They'd just use you and throw you back down here. Ha ha, wouldn't that be disappointing?" Hooting, he threw his head back and clutched his stomach. Then, as suddenly as his show of mirth, he hardened again. "So either you're a good little doll and give me back the knife or I'll leave you to rot."

"I'm not giving back the knife."

"Suit yourself. I have another." He pulled out a dagger from inside his sleeve.

Harley stomped her foot to keep herself from swaying. There was no way she could fight him and live in her current state. "This was all just a game to you, to see how I'd react?"

"Hmm, you could say that."

She let her arm sink to her side. "Now what? You're gonna kill me?"

"Kill you? Why would I do that? After you've proven yourself to be this entertaining? No, I think I might have use for you after all. Though we're gonna have to fatten you up a little. That skeletal look doesn't suit you."

Harley's mouth watered at the thought of food. "Can we start on that last bit already? I'm starving."

"Are you going to do as I say?"

"If it gets me out of here and some food into the bargain, sure, why not?" And hopefully some new clothes as well, her ruined top was a bit chilly not to mention gross.

"Huh, that was easier than I expected."

"I can make it challenging for you too, if that's what you prefer."

"Tempting, tempting... But I'd rather move on to the business part now if you don't mind. Much to discuss, you see."

"Can I have a bath before that?"

He smacked his lips again. "Now what gave you the impression that you could _bargain_ with me?"

"...because I have something that you want and you're not willing to go through the trouble of finding someone else suitable enough for your purpose?"

"Point taken," he said and picked up the lamp. "What do you say I'll walk you through my plan while you have that bath?"

"I say you've got yourself a deal."


End file.
